Page 196 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

I’m left sitting there, my fork paused halfway to my mouth, wondering what he could possibly mean.

When Jax returns, he’s holding something small in his hand. As he steps closer, I see it’s a hair clip—simple, black, with a faint sheen to it.

“I thought this might help,” he says, holding it out for me to see.

I stare at it, startled. “Where did you get this?”

“It was Finn’s. Back when his hair was longer. He hasn’t used it in years, but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

I blink down at the clip, something strange happening in my chest. It’s such a small thing, but the thoughtfulness behind it leaves me momentarily speechless.

“May I?” His voice goes gentle, dipping lower, and I look up at him, my cheeks heating as I nod.

He steps behind me, his presence looming. I feel the warmth of him a moment later when he crouches, his hands brushing against my hair with a softness that surprises me.

His fingers are large but surprisingly gentle as they gather my hair at the nape of my neck, the faint tug sending a shiver down my spine. He pauses, his hands steady, and then his fingers spread, threading through my hair with deliberate care. The first pass isslow, his touch warm against my scalp, and heat blooms under my skin, creeping into places I don’t want to think about.

The sensation is unexpected—intensely heated.

I grip the bowl in my lap a little tighter, the edge pressing into my palms as if it can anchor me. But his hands keep moving, combing through the strands with a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic. Each stroke lingers, his fingers firm yet tender as they glide over my scalp, and I have to bite down on my lower lip to stop the soft whimper threatening to escape.

He leans closer, just enough for the warmth of his body to radiate against my back. The faint brush of his knuckles grazes the skin at my nape, and my breath catches in my throat. His hands slip lower, kneading gently at the base of my skull, and a soft sigh escapes me before I can stop it.

God, it feels good. Too good.

My shoulders drop involuntarily, the tension melting away under his touch. I lean into him without meaning to, my body betraying me, chasing the feeling. My eyes flutter closed for a moment, and the world narrows to the firm press of his fingertips and the deep, soothing motions as he massages the tight muscles at the back of my neck.

The scent of him surrounds me now, clean soap and a darker, richer cedar. It rises slowly till it’s almost overwhelming, filling my senses and making it impossible to think of anything else.

Jax gathers a section of hair, his fingers sliding through it slowly, almost reverently, as if savoring the texture. The deliberate drag of his hands against my scalp sends another ripple of warmth through me, and I shift slightly, gripping the bowl tighter as the ache in my chest spreads lower.

The fabric of my blouse brushes against my skin as I move, and I freeze, suddenly aware of how sensitive I feel. My nipples tighten against the soft material, and I clench my thighs together, willing myself to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly.

The gesture shouldn’t feel like this.

But his hands linger, his movements unhurried.

When a low groan rumbles in his chest, the sound vibrating against me, making my core clench, I stifle a gasp. Heat pools between my legs.

“It’s soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

I can’t bring myself to respond. My heart is pounding in my chest, and the heat of his hands so close to my skin is making it impossible to think.

When he’s done, he steps back, his voice quiet. “Do you want to see?”

I nod again, turning slightly as he moves away. But it’s impossible not to notice the shift in him—the way his shoulders seem a little tighter, the way his steps are slower.

And then I see it.

The bulge in his pants is impossible to miss, straining against the fabric in a way that makes my cheeks burn. It’s…fuck…it’s bigger than Stone’s.

My eyes widen despite myself, and I quickly look away, my face heating further.

Jax clears his throat, his voice low and apologetic. “Ignore it,” he says softly, his tone steady but faltering just slightly at the end. “I’m not going to touch you. I’m not going to do anything.”

But the look in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens as he turns away, tells me he’s not entirely convinced of that himself.

Ignore it? I think to myself, my face burning.That’s impossible.

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